


The Edges Taken Off

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: M/M, Rape, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And so he touches, for the way Coward goes still and small, the careful flinch that's almost hidden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Edges Taken Off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [viceindustrious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceindustrious/gifts).



> Inspired by viceindustrious's prompt [here](http://unsettledink.livejournal.com/86128.html?thread=923248#t923248), though it messed around considerably with some of the elements. Hopefully it still hits the right buttons! Happy belated birthday. :)

Coward hates being touched. 

Blackwood notices this only because he notices Coward; he finds he is always aware of Coward, on the fringes of his attention like some sort of prey, as he is always aware of what he wants. And he wants Coward. 

Who wouldn't? He's beautiful, wealthy, powerful, wicked and clever and trembles when he is touched. Blackwood _wants_. And so he touches, constantly, small, careful touches that are never inappropriate, mind you. Friendly, casual touches, a hand on Coward's shoulder, fingertips on his arm, legs brushing together as they sit crammed together at an order meeting. Touches, for the way Coward goes still and small, the careful flinch that's almost hidden. 

He wonders if Coward will ever say anything about it to him. 

*

He doesn't. Instead, he seems to learn to tolerate Blackwood's touch, and while that has its merits, he feels more keenly the loss of Coward's fear. He finds himself pushing into Coward's space a little more, a littler further, a little closer, until he finds the flinch again. And so it progresses, Blackwood leaning harder and harder against the edges of Coward's fear until he's reached a point where his touches become blatant, become provocative, until Coward begins to look at him with a different sort of curiosity. 

"Henry," he says one day, long after they've progressed beyond formality. "What do you mean by this?"

"By what?" he asks, feigning ignorance. 

Coward ducks his head as though embarrassed. "By – you are quite …" he fidgets before finishing, "physical, lately." 

Blackwood watches the flush rise in Coward's cheeks as he holds his silence, stretches it out. Stands, and Coward's head comes up, eyes coming to meet his as though following a loadstone. He touches Coward's cheek; it's warm. 

"Come tell me when you've figured it out," he says, and leaves. 

*

Coward surprises him, in the end. 

He takes his time, a week, two, to think about what he already knows too well, then sends Blackwood an invitation. Blackwood goes, expecting Coward to pretend nothing has happened, or perhaps stumble through a carefully rehearsed polite rejection of his advances. There's a chance he may be curious, may ask Blackwood for reassurance again. 

Instead, Coward waits until they are alone, his color high and his hands unsteady, to press his lips to the corner of Blackwood's mouth, off center and uncertain. "Clever boy," Blackwood whispers, and wraps his hand around the back of Coward's head, drags him in and kisses him hungrily, Coward trembling and panting into his mouth. When he pulls back, Coward is wide eyed and pale, his lips standing out vividly. 

He retreats. Blackwood waits, hook sunk deep, as Coward presses his fingers to his mouth. 

"I-" Coward's voice is brittle, shaky. "So, this is what – you – you want to -" and there's the stuttering Blackwood was expecting. 

"Yes," he says, simply, and Coward swallows. Attempts to regain some reserve by sipping at his tea, but his hands shake so badly he gives up and presses them flat against the table, watching them instead of Blackwood as he speaks. 

"You should know," he says, very quietly, not a whisper but a bare breath of sound. "You should know something about me." 

*

Coward was raped. 

He learns this through Coward's fragmented words, but it is a thing he feels he has long known. Coward practically begs for despoilment; the thought that someone had not taken advantage of him before Blackwood seemed ludicrous. 

"He held me down," Coward says, still, still, so still. "Took me from behind and told me it would be fine, that I'd like it, that it wouldn't hurt if I'd just stay still. Just – wrapped his hands around my wrists and fucked me like an animal and told me no one would ever believe I hadn't wanted it." 

"Coward," Blackwood starts.

"I’m spoiled goods, you see," Coward says, sharply, still not looking at Blackwood. "I’m no good to anyone, I can't even … function properly. I can't – I can't give you what you want." His voice catches, as though near tears. "I wish I could." 

It is a risk, but then, that is why Blackwood does it. He rises, steps to Coward's side and kneels beside him, tilting his head to catch Coward's eyes. "You are far from spoiled good, Daniel," and Coward shivers when he places his hand on Coward's knee. "And you can give me what I want." 

*

What Coward gives him is this: 

When Blackwood leads him to the bedroom for the first time, he doesn't balk. He shivers, it becoming an ongoing tremble that makes it feel as though he is vibrating under Blackwood's touch. Blackwood undresses him, and he goes red and pale by turns, curling in on himself as though trying to disappear. 

"Daniel," he says, reprovingly, and kisses him. Coward responds better to kisses than most things, untutored and nervous but not as fearful. He kisses him until Coward is uncurled, sighing quietly into his kisses and leaning into him when he pulls away. "This can feel good, I promise," he tells Coward, and kisses him again, and again, and again, kisses his mouth and his neck and the skin of his chest until Coward has grown pliant, still wide eyed, heartbeat still higher than arousal, but somehow soft and giving. 

"Lean back," he says, tries to make it a suggestion when it is nothing of the kind. Coward obliges, and he slides down between Coward's legs, presses another kiss against his slowly firming cock. Coward makes a short, surprised sound, and when Blackwood looks up, he is biting his lip, fear curdling in his eyes again. "Let me," Blackwood says. 

And when Blackwood takes him in his mouth, he doesn't protest. He gasps, and jerks, and after a few minutes lets out a breathy _Henry_ that Blackwood acknowledges with a light scrape of teeth that makes Coward shiver and moan. "What are you – I didn't – oh," he murmurs, "oh!" 

It would be easy to make him come, easy to wring him dry in a matter of minutes, but that's not what Blackwood wants. He plays with Coward, sucks him and keeps him on that edge of coming until Coward has lost grasp of his fears, is pressing into Blackwood's mouth eagerly and panting out short, gasping whines. "Oh, _please_ , Henry, please," and while that is its own kind of pleasure, it's not what Blackwood _wants_. 

"Turn over," he tells Coward, who blinks at him, dazed, and then faintly fearful. Blackwood curls his tongue around the head of Coward's cock and Coward' eyes close as he shudders. "Trust me," he says, and Coward gives himself over into Blackwood's care, turns over on his stomach, head resting on his folded arms. 

"Up, up," Blackwood says, and pushes at him until Coward has his knees under him, ass raised and irresistible. He spreads Coward's cheeks and presses his mouth the the puckered hole, licks at it as Coward practically yelps and jumps. He pulls back for a second. "Trust me," he says again, and when he tastes Coward's hole again, Coward sighs. And moans. And begs, ever so prettily. 

Coward isn't really fully aware when Blackwood moves, when Blackwood looms over him and presses his chest against Coward's back. When he slides his cock into Coward's hole, now wet and as eager for him as the rest of Coward. He moans, mindlessly, and presses back against Blackwood. 

Blackwood leans forward. Wraps his hands around Coward's wrists and pins them to the bed. 

It's a moment before Coward reacts, but react he does. He stills, tensing slightly. "Henry?" he asks, a note of uncertainty in his voice. Tugs at Blackwood's grip. 

"Hush," Blackwood tells him. Tightens his hands. 

"Henry," Coward says, and there's a definite quaver in his voice now. "I'd rather if you didn't – if you'd put your hands somewhere else, I just, it's, it's just-" 

"I know," Blackwood says. Lowers his head and bites at Coward's neck.

Coward goes stiff. Makes a sharp, shocked sound as Blackwood pulls out almost all the way and slams back in, not the slow, careful strokes he's been using until now, but something brutal. "No," Coward whispers, "Please, Henry, no," and there it is, the note of fear, the build of terror. Blackwood fucks into him again, teeth tightening on Coward's skin, and Coward screams at him, fights the small amount allowed to him, twisting and struggling and begging Blackwood to stop, please, stop. 

"It won't hurt as much if you're still, Daniel," he says, and Coward freezes.

"No," he whimpers, "no, no, no, nonononono," a rising litany of fear. 

"Yes," Blackwood says, and fucks him, fast and hard and uncompromising, shivering himself as Coward's pleas turn broken, turn to sobbing, tears damp on his hand when he presses it against Coward's cheek, turning his head until he can see the blanked, terrified expression in Coward's eyes. Wraps his hand around Coward's cock, almost completely limp now, and strokes it, twisting his hand just so, shifting his fucking ever so slightly, until a new denial enters Coward's voice, until Coward' cock is once again hard and dripping in Blackwood's grasp. Coward gasps, and Blackwood doesn't know if it in fear or arousal, and he doesn't care. He strokes Coward as he fucks him, skin slapping against skin, faster and more frantic until Coward is sobbing and moaning in equal parts beneath him, writhing, fighting to come or fighting to escape or both. 

When he comes, finally, the tightening of his ass around Blackwood is almost the final straw, but wouldn't be enough to make him come, shaking and groaning, without Coward's broken, half sobbed " _please_ ".

When he's come back to himself a bit, Coward is a still, limp form next to him, shaking, arms wrapped around himself as he stares unseeing into the distance. Blackwood runs a hand down his side and is rewarded with a faint whimper. 

"He was right," Blackwood tells him. "Look at you. No one would believe you didn't want it."


End file.
